


Pick Your Poison

by happilyinsane13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-13 12:01:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2150001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happilyinsane13/pseuds/happilyinsane13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ron suddenly dies on an auror mission, Hermione is left with a young Rose and Hugo to take care of and not enough money from her own job to support them. Resorting to desperate measures Hermione finds the underbelly of Knockturn Alley and a special version of Russian Roulette awaits her in order to make big money fast. Draco Malfoy is waiting for her. </p>
<p>"Pick your poison, Granger, if you want to live."</p>
<p>"There's some irony in there, I know it."</p>
<p>AU. Canon divergence after 2007.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Questions and Riddles

            Hermione couldn’t move from the grave in front of her, she couldn’t tear her eyes off the name written in stone.

Ronald Bilius Weasley

1 March 1980 – 23 November 2007

Loving father, loyal friend

            How could all her love for a man suddenly have to be embodied in words on a stone and a corpse in the ground? She was lost without his laugh. She couldn’t keep her mind sharp without their spats. She could never find solace in her darkest times when his beautiful blue eyes were buried under a sea of ugly brown dirt. No. Hermione could only focus on her grief embodied in a grey headstone and an unborn child in her belly.

            The wind blew against her black dress. She shivered. The chilly gale wrapped around her legs and stung the tear tracks on her cheeks. She had forgotten to put on pantyhose… Ron would have teased her.

            “Hermione,”

            Hermione turned around to see Harry, his green eyes watery and rimmed with a vicious red. He wasn’t crying now though because she needed him and Hermione loved him and hated herself for it.

            “Rose?” she croaked out.

            “George and Angelina have her right now,” Harry said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “Mrs. Weasley would’ve taken her but… I don’t think she’s up to it yet.”

            Hermione nodded, leaning her head against Harry’s shoulder. Her left side felt so empty. That had been Ron’s side. Harry and Ron’s arms would be firmly clasped together as they sheltered her, protected her even though they knew she was strong without them. She had felt safe though. She didn’t realize how vulnerable she’d feel without one of them.

            “I thought, you know, when I was eleven, that the magical world would have an answer to everything,” she said, struggling to force the words out. “I thought, once I got my letter, that having magic meant I could conquer anything.” She released a watery giggle, completely hollow and lifeless. “I guess even magic can’t stop a mad man and an Unforgiveable curse.”

           Harry hugged her tighter to him.

            “We’ll have Randax Lestrange put in the deepest, darkest cell of Azkaban, I swear to you,” Harry vowed fiercely. “If I don’t get my hands on him first.”

            Hermione stiffened at the name. Randax Lestrange, son of Rabastan Lestrange, nephew of Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange, had been attacking muggles and muggle-borns under the cover of night. Although the death toll hadn’t been too high it was enough that muggles in the London area had begun to notice and draw attention to the murders and vicious attacks. With 12 attacks and 4 deaths, a team of aurors had to be dispatched. Ron originally wasn’t going to be apart of the team but when one of the others had fallen ill Ron took his place, and paid the price for it.

            “Honestly Harry,” Hermione said, her voice turning to steel. “What closure can I have? Ron is dead and I want him back, that’s the only thing I want.”

            She gasped and shuddered as all of her fears and grievances poured out of her mouth like a sickness, “He’ll never see this child be born, he’ll never see our children get on the Hogwarts express, he’ll never walk Rose down the aisle, he’ll never fight with me again over work or wear he put the tea rags, I’ll never see him debate with you about quidditch, and I’ll forget what he looked like when he smiled.“

            Suddenly the floodgates opened again and Hermione was sobbing into Harry’s shoulder. She thought she had cried all her tears away when she first heard the news of his death, then again when Rose asked why daddy wasn’t home, and again as Ron’s body was lowered into the ground. But no, she realized as she lost all strength in her legs and miserably pulled Harry to the ground. They clutched at each other and sobbed as they both realized that there would never be enough tears to shed for Ron. They could flood the world with their grief and broken love but never, ever, would they stop.

 

            Hours later Ron’s will had been read and it was all that they had planned and all Hermione needed. Even as Mrs. Weasley begged, “No, dear, I can’t, take the money, take the money!” Hermione did not budge. Instead she tried to smile and say, “He left enough for Rose and this baby when they come of age, and he wanted you to be comfortable. I make enough at my job. We’ll be fine. This is what he wanted. This is what he wanted.”

            All she could think to herself was, “Ron, do you believe in me?” She liked to believe that the autumn rain that poured from the sky was him crying, “Yes.”

 

            She gave birth with Harry at her side and the entire Weasley family waiting in the lobby of St. Mungo’s. She cried and sobbed. It was turning out to be a complicated birth. The baby was facing the wrong way and he was coming too fast, she was too close to birth to receive an anesthesia potion and she just kept sobbing as she tried to push. Screaming, screaming, “Ron! Where are you? Ron, I need you! Our baby, our baby!”

            Harry let her crush his hand, wet his shoulder, and Harry held her, saying “You can do this Hermione, you can!” Inside Harry Potter was terrified thinking, _If I lose her I die, If I lose her I can’t do this, Ron save her, don’t take her from me yet…_

Desperation bred desperate cries and desperate pleas and when Hugo was finally born he had Ron’s blue eyes and she wept over his head, kissing him, as Harry cut the cord. In their strange blend of joy and sorrow they wanted to believe that their prayers had been answered.

 

            Hugo was two and Rose was four when Hermione looked at her accounts, put her head in her hands, and whispered to herself, “Grindelwald’s bollocks.” Luna had been sitting on her desk beside her, Hermione honestly forgot why she was there, and released her airy like laugh.

            “It’s not funny Luna,” Hermione groaned. “If I was living by myself or even just one child I’d be making enough to make a living. But with two children… I need enough money for food, clothes, and for Merlin’s sake a day care. I can’t keep dropping them off at Molly’s and Ginny’s place.”

            Luna cocked her head to the side. “What about the money Ron left them?” Hermione wanted to flinch and smile all at once. The mention of Ron still hurt but she couldn’t help but smile at Ron’s thought toward his children. It was a humble sum, but he had saved it with such devotion and pride that Hermione could never belittle the amount.

            “It’s for when they go to school, an allowance to be given to them when they turn thirteen,” Hermione said, turning to Luna to look into her dreamy eyes. “It’s their money, I can’t take it.”

            “And you’ll never borrow from anyone, and I doubt you’ll ask for a loan from Gringotts,” Luna said, surprisingly logical, Hermione couldn’t help but notice. “You’ll have to get a second job then, Hermione, as long as your pride is in the way.”

            Hermione picked up her quill and threw it at Luna’s head but didn’t bother to deny it.

            “I’m a thirty year old witch with a job at the Magical Department of Law Enforcement during the day, and that leaves only night jobs and not many, um, slightly reputable establishments are going to hire me when I’ve just gotten off of my day job. Besides, it won’t be enough money.”

            “Well then, Hermione, how about something slightly les reputable?”

            Hermione threw Luna a sharp look.

            “Have you forgotten I work for the Magical Department of Law Enforcement? They’ll turn me away once they see me.”

            “They don’t have to see you as you,” Luna said, pulling out her wand and twirling it in the air, blue and silver sparks lighting up the air in front of her. “You don’t have to be the shining war hero to them, in fact, if you pretend to be a more corrupt version of yourself they might accept it better than if you had to drink a flask of polyjuice potion every hour.”

            Luna turned to Hermione, who was gaping at her, her eyes suddenly sharp.

            “Everyone wants to believe that a goody-two-shoes can be corrupt, that someone who seemed to hold themselves above them can be brought down to their level.”

            Hermione cocked her head at Luna curiously.

            “Luna, I think for once you’re making sense to me!”

            Luna smiled then looked for something in the air that Hermione could not see.

 

            This is how Hermione Granger found herself scuttling through Knockturn Alley on a Saturday night. When she had dropped Rose and Hugo off at Mrs. Weasley’s she had simply told her she was going to have a bit of a night out with Luna. Luna would cover for her if any member of the Weasley clan sought to contact her. Hermione felt bad for doing this behind her family’s back, including Harry, but she knew they would try to stop her, try to give her the money she needed, but she couldn’t depend on them forever and Luna had been right. She had too much damn pride. As she shuffled from mangy bar to bar, looking desperately for sign of illegal activity she could make big money from, she tried not to think about what Ron would say.

            On her eighth bar, _The Wiggling Eyeball_ , Hermione was about ready to give up for the night. It was nearing one in the morning and she was growing hopeless. _This was always Ron and Harry’s job_ , she thought bitterly as she walked down the cobblestone streets, _finding the illegal activity._ _I only did the prosecuting_. It was only when Hermione was making her way past a pub she had already been into, _The Devil’s Claw_ , that an old man under a raggedy brown cloak pulled on the back of her hood.

            “Watch it!” she exclaimed, spinning on her heel and swiftly grabbing her hood to pull it over her face.

            The old man just flashed a grin. She spotted that he was missing several teeth, and one of his eyes was a milky white coating what used to be brown.

            “Pick your poison?” he asked gleefully, holding out a tray of vials for her to see. There were five of them all the same shape, but all different colors ranging from dull amber to a brilliant neon green. She looked at the old man who was slightly shaking the tray in front of her eyes, daring her to take the challenge. She raised an eyebrow from underneath her cloak but he must have noticed, for he launched into a riddle,

            “Pick your poison and see,

            If you’re as good as the rest,

            Move up the ranks and prove

            That you’re the best.

            Riches will be your reward,

            If you can survive,

            But first this test

            So you can see what I hide.

            The brightest seeks to fool you

            With its deadly shade.

            The dullest is as dull

            As a knight’s fine blade.

            A smell that deters and

            A smell that attracts

            Are derived from our friends

            In woven, sticky barracks.

            Last of all we have one

            That tells all

            From its pure heat it

Kills you before you can call.”

            Hermione had a brief sense of déjà vu, a flash of memory from when she was eleven but then she smiled. She loved a mental challenge, even if this was a particularly easy one.

“You’re saying that all but one are poisonous, am I correct?” She laughed. She leaned forward and smelled the vials, wrinkled her nose, then pointed to a deep purple liquid, and then the black one beside it. “These smell the most sweet and the most vial. From your hint they have been derived from a species of arachnids that live in colonies, probably in either the Dark Forest near Hogwarts, or the Black Forest of Germany. Maybe both, as the colonies of the Scottish Highlands excrete a rather foul poison while those in Germany try to attract their prey with theirs. The warm vial, the disgusting yellow one, is bubotuber puss and I’ve had enough experience with that to know it when I see it. The amber one is poison, as the riddle clearly states, and the green one is harmless.”

In the heat of the moment and the pure excitement to prove her theory she picked up the vial and downed it, grinning at the little man, who was grinning right back.

“Ah, miss, you’re perfect, perfect for our games,” he said, bowing a little and as he straightened he grabbed the sleeve of her robe and started to drag her into the bar. “You not only solved the riddle but you drank your choice without hesitation. Yes, yes you can go far, you can go far…”

“How does anybody not solve that riddle? It’s quite simple.” Hermione said, realizing too late that she sounded quite snobbish.

            The old man however, only chuckled. “You’d be surprised, my dear, how many stupid wizards exist in this world.”

            Hermione knew all too well. “And witches, “ she supplied.

            “And witches,” he agreed. “But they’re in the minority in our little game.”

As Hermione let herself be dragged behind the bar and led into what looked like the dusty old cellar she suddenly wondered, “If I had drunk the wrong potion, would I have died?”

“Oh no, I had the antidote my dear,” he said reassuringly. “The dying part comes later in the game.”

Suddenly Hermione wasn’t sure if she had made the right decision as the man pulled her down the last few rickety stairs and into the depths of the cold cellar. She was suddenly in a room lit by bright green torches, a long table filled to the brim with bottles and vials of various size, shape, and color, wizards surrounded her, looking around in amazement. Hermione looked around but fear was filling the pit of her stomach instead of wonder, the adrenaline she possessed earlier draining out of her veins.

“All new contestants, just like you,” the old man said proudly. “Have to make a new draft every year for a new season you see. Too many, um, well, go to the other side.”

“And who runs this game?” Hermione choked out.

“You’ll meet him later, but the coaches are here, at the front.”

The little man pointed a knobby hand in the direction of a small stage at the head of the table of vials. Their backs were to the rough, wet stone of the cellar, and the green light made their faces look gaunt and grave. There was a woman with dark red-brown hair that fell to her shoulders, high cheekbones set in a thin face, and piercing hazel eyes that scrutinized the newcomers in front of her. A stocky man beside her with a messy head of brown hair and deep-set brown eyes surveyed the group with a look of excitement. As he leaned over to whisper to the man next to him Hermione had to stifle a gasp.

He had white blonde hair, hard grey eyes, tall, all sharp angles and bones with a look of boredom etched on his face.

It was Draco Malfoy, a man she had not spoken a word to since their time at Hogwarts and barely seen since his trial after Voldemort’s defeat. It was only _then_ that Hermione’s feet began to move, slowly, backwards to the steps. It was only _then_ that her hood slipped off her head and exposed her face for all to see. It was only _then_ that Draco Malfoy decided to turn his pale face in her direction, caught her eyes, and his look of boredom morphed into his infamous sneer.

“Well, Granger, look how you’ve wandered into the viper’s nest!” He called out, and he laughed amongst the sudden silence and Hermione felt like his laughter was worse than any poison she could swallow, seeping through her skin, dribbling through her veins, and stopping her heart cold.


	2. A Den of Snakes

            The entire room went deadly silent. Some people turned on their heels as quickly as possible, some turned slowly and studied her with narrowed eyes, and a few tried to bolt for the cellar stairs. The old man who had led Hermione down below blocked the way, waving his wand innocently, an amused, toothy smile lighting up his wrinkled face. Hermione shoved her hands in her robes. One hand grabbed her wand in case she needed to fight her way out and the other shook within the hot confines of her pocket.

            “Hermione Weasley? From the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?” the stocky, brunette man said, his face surprised but not troubled.

            The woman coach narrowed her eyes and snarled, “The little mudblood thought she could sneak in here so she could run back and get her little auror buddies to organize a raid, did she?”

            Hermione was filled with a sudden anger that consumed her, making her skin grow hot. She hardly noticed that some of the wizards and witches around her were pulling out their wands and coming towards her as she whipped out her own and pointed it at the witch. Hermione looked her in the eyes and focused on her as much as she could to keep her wand hand steady.

            “Don’t you dare call me that word again! I fought a war to erase that bloody slur from history so you damn well keep your mouth shut before I remind you why I faced Voldemort and lived!”

            The crowd around her stopped moving and a few people gasped. Hermione just rolled her eyes.

            “No reason to fear a name. I’m here to play the game.”

            Hermione’s eyes glanced over to see Draco Malfoy staring at her intently, his grey eyes looked almost impressed.

            “That git,” she murmured, keeping her wand up.

            Draco shrugged nonchalantly. “Why would she come here with only a cloak on to disguise herself if she meant to spy on us? Although I loathe admitting it, Granger is smarter than that. If the rumors are true she could’ve easily whipped up a polyjuice potion.”

            “It’s Weasley now,” Hermione said, gripping her wand even tighter.

            Draco just turned to the old man on the stairs. “You have an opinion Rafaelus?”

            “Oh I think she’s motivated, Master Malfoy,” Rafaelus chuckled. “But not by justice.”

            Rafaelus left that hanging in the air, washing over the crowd, letting them draw their own conclusions of Hermione’s motives. It had the desirable effect as people stopped looking like they wanted to hex her and more like they were genuinely curious as to why she had wandered down into such dark territory.

            Malfoy merely smirked. “That settles that Granger, though I stand by what I said before. You are still one lioness in a den of snakes.”

            Having said his piece he turned to the woman, his posture lax and his eyes bored.

            “Hurry it along Daphne, so we can thin out the place. It’s starting to stink of desperation.”

            Daphne smirked.

            “All too right, Draco,” she said.

            Turning to the brunette, who wore a smile wider than the Thames, she gestured her head to the side. It was a silent command. Hermione was trying to work out the chain of command between the three through words and gestures. It was obvious that the child-like man was at the bottom of this little totem pole. Draco and Daphne were a mystery.

            “I’m August Zacarias, and this is the lovely Daphne Greengrass,” he drawled out “lovely,” and Hermione had to fight back a giggle. “You all know the infamous Draco Malfoy. We are what you will know as impartial judges, as well as your mentors. You will be divided amongst the three of us and we will coach you in anyway we can as you advance through the rounds. The higher you climb the more money you get.”

            “And the longer you live,” Draco added.

            There was a hush over the crowd. Hermione gulped, looking around her at the faces of her opponents. She could tell by the glint in a couple of people’s eyes that they relished this. They looked forward to the rush of adrenaline that meant risking your life. Others looked as frightened as she felt but were motivated by need and desperation. She noticed a few of the adrenaline seekers could barely have been older than 22. Fresh out of Hogwarts. None of them knew what it was to truly risk your life everyday, be on the run and live on the blood rushing through your veins. Hermione had never wanted to go back to that point.

            August went on, “While you will receive antidotes if you’re poisoned in the first five rounds, that just cuts out those who aren’t worthy to truly live on the edge. If you are good enough to get that far then you hold your life in your hands for 6 more rounds until there is only one of you left standing. This next trial is simply to weed more of you out.”

            Hermione narrowed her eyes. Another trial meant they were probably trying to cut their numbers in half at least. Hermione looked around the crowded basement. It looked like there were probably 200 witches and wizards crowding the damp space. There would have to be a cut of a 100 people at least in order to have just a total of 11 rounds. She had a feeling there wouldn’t be a helpful riddle this time.

Daphne put her hand on her hip, her deep violet robes creasing where she grasped it.

            “We shall separate you into three adjoining rooms, and each of us shall preside over a trial. There will be 7 vials and we will pour the potions into the vials in front of you. We have Tasters, who will take a sip before you. They have built significant tolerances to these poisons and therefore can delay the effect of the poison up to 20 seconds. Drinking right after them, which on average takes about 5 seconds, you will succumb in another 5 seconds. This ensures you didn’t institute slight of hand.”

            “We play with your lives but we do so fairly,” Draco said, spreading his arms wide in invitation. “Now, if you don’t want to take the risk, we understand. Leave now if you wish.”

            The tone of Draco’s voice, too open and understanding, barely hid the contempt he would hold for those who would slink out of the basement. No one moved. They sensed that they would lose all pride if they left now. They stood stock still, hands clenching and unclenching. Beads of sweat rolled down the man’s face in front of Hermione. His face was round and moist, with a widow’s peak. Hermione shook her head.

            “There’s a charm on the doors to ensure that there’s as close to an equal number of people in each room as possible,” August said. “Now go on, scatter yourselves.”

            Witches and wizards dispersed around her in a hot mass, each going towards the closest door. Hermione stood, her arms crossed, studying the so-called mentors. She absolutely did not want to be in the same room as Malfoy if she could help it. She was aware that Malfoy would probably not try to sabotage her, they were past petty school grudges and he now had no good motive. He would probably just utterly enjoy seeing Hermione put her life in danger. She did not need to see him smirk at her every time she took a sip of what could be liquid death. Hermione hadn’t really known Daphne very well in school but she was related to Draco and that was reason enough for Hermione to stay away. This made up Hermione’s mind and she quickly rushed to the room where August would be.

            Draco’s room had been in the back of the basement, smack in between the two others, so most had flocked there. Wizards and witches were starting to be repelled from the door, a charm pushing them back a few feet whenever they tried to enter. Hermione made it to the right side of the room and was happy when the golden handles of the oak door opened at her touch. She strode inside and quickly made her way to the long wooden table with little stations of empty vials. She chose one to the mid-right of the table, giving herself a good angle in which to study her opponents.

            _You’re having too much fun with this_ , a voice in her head said but she quickly knocked the thought aside.

            It didn’t take much longer for the room to become full and the stations surrounding the table each had an occupant. Hermione was stuck between two men, one was tall and tan with a crooked nose and a vicious gleam in his green eyes. The other was big by both length and width, his brown robes covered in fur, and the scent of a menagerie permeated the air around him.

            “So, the war hero, Hermione Weasley, fallen from grace.”

            Hermione whirled around to the tan man with the piercing green eyes. She straightened her back and did her best to adopt a haughty air.

            “I’m here for money and a fun little game,” she said. “No dignity lost in that.”

            “Oh dignity and grace are two different things,” he said, studying her profile intently. She shifted a bit under his gaze. “I personally believe you’ve gained some dignity, especially among this lot.” He cocked his head, gesturing to the rest of the wizards and witches at the table.

            “Why would you say that?” Hermione asked.

            He smirked.

            “There’s a certain dignity in being willing to lower yourself to a task that people associate with the low.”

            Hermione’s eyes widened at that, taken aback at the strange compliment. He nodded his head.

            “Karim Mubarak,” he said.

            Hermione, strangely, found herself smiling. Before she could ask Karim any questions a light, lilting voice interrupted them.

            “Alright my dearies! Here’s my lovely welcoming gift to you!”

            Hermione saw August stroll in, levitating seven different cauldrons in front of him. She wondered how he could talk so cheerily with the amount of concentration it took to levitate so many objects. It was truly impressive.

            “Wha’s tha smell, eh?” the portly man on Hermione’s side asked. Hermione found it tempting to tell him that it was probably his own odor until the stench drifting from some of the cauldrons wafted towards her nose. Hermione couldn’t help it. She gagged on the stench, that of rotten corpses and dewy maggots covered in blood and dirt. Several of the people around her were also making valiant efforts not to eject their dinner onto the floor. The wet sound of choking and a splatter alerted Hermione that someone had failed.

            August’s seemingly permanent smile widened and Hermione shifted uncomfortably as each pearly white tooth gleamed at the crowd.

            “My dear Starkrow, would you please escort that man out? If he can’t stand the smell he won’t be able to handle anything else we throw at him anyways.”

            August’s eyes gleamed, suddenly malicious as he highlighted the weakness of this wizard. A birdlike man that Hermione assumed to be Starkrow lifted the sick man, blonde hair and built, by the collar and pathetically dragged him out of the room. No one moved as silence engulfed the table. Hermione could only imagine that everyone else who had been struggling to fight anything crawling up their throats were hurriedly trying to swallow it. She tried not to gag at the thought.

            “Now,” August said, suddenly cheery and kind again, “Let’s get started.”

            He raised his wand and the seven cauldrons zoomed around the room, different colored potions lifting themselves from their containers and shooting into the vials sitting in the stands in front of them. Hermione watched the cauldrons closely, flicking her eyes back and forth between August and the potions that were depositing themselves in front of the wizards and witches around the room. August only had his one wand out and he would need to use all of his concentration in order to levitate and pour out the potions around the room. Hermione first took account of other witches and wizards who stood behind the participants at the table. They wore black robes with a silver border that went from the bottom hem of their robes all the way to the hoods. These must be the Tasters, Hermione thought. None of them had wands out and their mouths were closed. Even with wands they couldn’t perform magic without incantations. Hermione only knew a handful of people who could do silent or wandless magic and she doubted it was any of the Tasters.

            Yet, she remembered, she shouldn’t dismiss them so quickly. They had been dedicated and strong enough to build up a tolerance to several poisons.

            “Your mind is whirling,” Karim said beside her. “You might want to slow down.”

            Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, barely turning her head.

            “Your not even a little bit curious?” Hermione asked.

            “I’m focused on surviving, and all I need is to pay attention to what’s in front of me to do that.”

            Hermione, to her own surprise, chuckled.

            “I do agree.”

            Karim may trust that the people distributing the poisons in front of them would follow their own rules but Hermione was not about to take that chance. Not when she had children depending on her.

            When all of the vials at the table were full the cauldrons zoomed back to August’s side and settled on the floor beside his feet.

            “Same rules as the test that got you in here. Well,” he cocked his head. “Except for the fun little riddle. You don’t get that any more.”

            Murmurs erupted around Hermione and she had to admit she wasn’t surprised. However, she couldn’t help but give a small gulp. It was already going to be much more difficult to get out of this round unscathed.

            “You all will choose which drink to take a swig of. We will give you 5 minutes to decide. When those 5 minutes are up, your Taster will take a swig of the vial you chose first, and right afterwards you WILL drink the rest. No waiting 20 seconds to take a glimpse at your Taster’s reaction,” August threw up his hands in a theatrical wave and suddenly Hermione felt rather than saw the metal shackles clamped around her ankles. Her first response was to struggle but she knew it was fruitless. The magical chains were charmed so that the more she struggled the tighter they became. She bit her lip as they closed painfully on her ankle, reminding her of the Devil’s Snare she had to fight in her First Year of Hogwarts. She thought she heard the audible snap of bone and the clank of chains. There was a short cry. Karim didn’t move, his green eyes narrowed at August.

            “Now, if you wait too long,” August said. “Those chains will give you a nasty little shock, knocking you out automatically. We take cheating very seriously, you see.”

            “Oh yes, cheating is bad but people dying is fine. Just fine. Weren’t in Slytherin were you?” Hermione muttered, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

            Karim snorted, bringing a large hand up to his mouth to smother his laughter.

            “Now,” August said and he turned his head and Hermione swore he was looking straight at her. “Your 5 minutes starts now.”


End file.
